For this helping of OCTOBERFEAST, let’s play a round of Six Degrees of Separation:

1) Halloween is a night when kids and teens reign supreme.

2) Making the most of this single-night supremacy, many youths enjoy vandalism.

3) Perhaps the most popular act of Hallow’s Eve vandalism is that of smashing pumpkins.

4) The Smashing Pumpkins are an alt-rock group whose popularity peaked in the 1990’s.

5) The lead guitarist and singer for The Smashing Pumpkins is Billy Corgan.

6) In the mid 1980’s, Billy Corgan filmed himself trying to shred.

There we have it. I now present (mullet and all) a Billy Corgan guitar solo from nearly twenty five years ago.

Monsters are awesome.

Whether reading about them being chopped down in classics like Beowulf or watching them wreak havoc in new forays such as Cloverfield, there seems to be a timeless love affair with monsters. And my (admittedly limited) knowledge of world culture tells me this isn’t just an American lust — Puerto Rico houses the chupacabra, Egypt touts the mummy, and Japan…well, everyone knows about Japan’s contribution.

While I love watching monsters do their whole loathe/kill/destroy humanity thing, I find it a bit more enjoyable to watch them on their downtime. It’s like being a fan of a band — at a certain point, your respect for their work drives you  to become curious about their personal lives. This is nothing to be ashamed about.

Fortunately, with the 1960’s came The Munsters — a sitcom devoted to showing how monsters really behave.

In case you’ve never seen the show, the basic premise is as follows: a Frankenstein named Herman is in an interspecies marriage with a vampire named Lily. Somehow, these two have managed to procreate — resulting in their son Eddie, a werewolf. To appease his father-in-law’s racist skepticism of Frankensteins, Herman supports Grandpa by allowing him to shack up with them at the 1313 Mockingbird Lane residence. To top it all off, Lily’s superhot (somehow human) niece Marilyn lives with them too.

The Munsters helps us learn that monsters just regular people, uh, well, regular things like  you  and me.  Also, the show utilizes laugh-tracks and fast-motion, both of which are plus-signs in my rank book.

Oh, and don’t even bother waltzing in here with any arguments about The Addams Family even being a contender against The Munsters. One is a show about mythical beings living together and the other is about a bunch of damn freaks and perverts.

If I wanted to see that, I’d just eat dinner with my family.

Ghostbusters II is an absolute cinematic masterpiece. No other film provides quite a perfect blend of humor, science fiction, horror and (of course) Ernie Hudson. Thinking about it now, I realize that I have probably watched this movie from start to finish more than any other. The sequel to Ghostbusters is an important part of my life and I hope that it is for you as well.

But just in case it isn’t, I’ve decided to use OCTOBERFEAST to persuade you. A little known fact is Ghostbusters II features Bobby Brown’s On Our Own, known to critics and thespians everywhere as the all-time greatest song in a soundtrack. Yes, even before marrying & ruining Whitney Houston, Bobby Brown was doing fantastic things.

For your viewing pleasure…And to help you prepare for the impending invasion of ghouls and ghosts…

Bobby Brown’s On Our Own — set to a terrible slide show of still shots from Ghostbusters II:

Today is the first day of October, unofficially the sickest month of all. Although September and November try to represent, October is autumn. This is the month you use for apple-picking, seasonal beers, hayrides, frolics in pumpkin patches, and all that other good stuff. Living in New England, I get to see sick foliage every time I step outside. In a sense, life is good.

But most importantly, October is all about Halloween.

Question: Is there a better holiday?

Answer: No.

Christmas? Thanksgiving? Arbor Day? Fuck that. Halloween is a celebration of costumes, free candy, horror movies, vandalism, alcohol consumption, Satanism, and carved-out pumpkin-decapitations. At a concert a few years back, I heard Mikael Akerfeldt describe Halloween perfectly: “All Hallow’s Eve…Will you trick and treat? Or get drunk and fuck?”

In honor of Halloween and its preceding month, I am presenting Omega-Level’s First (and Last) Annual OCTOBERFEAST. Once a day, I am going to post a video that has a connection to either Halloween or October. Sometimes, the connection will be clear and solid. Other times, the connection will be tenuous at best (probably when I try to post after doing the Friday Brew Review). But at the very least, I’m helping you get into the holiday spirit.

So, without further adieu…

The goddamn Monster Mash:

Ahoy! How goes it, bros and babes of the OL Nation? It’s been awhile since I’ve danced aboard this burning ship of nerd-revelry, as I’ve needed some time off to lick the wounds inflicted during my stint as the OCTOBERFEAST emcee. But alas, I’ve returned to the command center, eager to help Caffeine Powered steer this conflagration-barge right into the hearts of the willing.

Whether its pounding in your chest or blackened by loss or fluttering amorously, we want you to open your hearts to the Omega Level. So come on, don’t just stand there! Hop aboard! ALL HANDS ON DECK!

This here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the weekly salvation-via-distraction show and tell feature. The fact of the matter is that the workweek sucks – we kill ourselves at jobs that date rape our spirits and then can’t even be bothered to   drive `em home in the morning.

How uncouth.

To thwart forty-hours’ worth of ruin, we’ll take turns showcasing the bits of entertainment we use to ensure our souls’ chastity. I’ll go first, then ya’ll can hit up the comments sections and follow suit.

All together now.

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Monday evening in the Northeast section of the American Empire proper. Cold winds, comfortable clothes. Shut windows and caffeine in the veins. I’m relaxing. I’m also Caffeine Powered, my (literal) brother Rendar Frankenstein tagging me in for this iteration. I’m swinging over the top fucking rope, ready to drop sweet chin music upon all your unsuspecting asses. Gape for me baby, and allow my Love Heel to caress your Soul-Clit.

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[cue the music]

There’re moments   in life in which appreciation simply cannot be thwarted, try as Life might.

Today has been the Greater Boston area’s first real taste of fall, a forty-degree recess that seems to cool not just the sweltering landscape, but burning souls as well. That stack of work piling ever higher? Crack open the office window and laugh as the breeze pushes papers across your desk. Stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, a nameless worker-bee in the mass exodus from the hive? Take a look beyond the overpass at the trees, all showing off their summer’s-end sunburns of red and yellow and orange. Finally home and having trouble sloughing off the day’s worth of stress?

Just crack open a Harvest Pumpkin Ale.

Autumnal awesomeness will follow.

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Historically, I probably would’ve said that my all-time favorite Crispin would have to be Glover.

Ya know, the dude that played George McFly and then went fucking apeshit.

But after today, I’m afraid that Willard no longer owns quite as much real estate in my heart as he once did. Sorry dude – I didn’t actually expect this to happen. But the fact of the matter is that I’ve now tried Lansdowne by the folks at Crispin Cider and I’m impressed.

Fuck that, I’m blown away.

I snagged Lansdowne from the shelves of my local beer-dealer because I was lured in by its appearance. I ain’t no liar, and I can admit when visual aesthetics win me over. There’s something elegant, mayhaps even classy, about the 22-ounce container. Maybe it’s the black label or the little tree logo or the use of simple typography – whites and golds, print and script. But if I had to toss money on it, I’d say that it’s the interrelationships, the gropings and moanings in a darkened room bathed in auditory-lubrication, between all of the above that sold me. Looking at the bottle, it looks urbane as hell.

I’ll be damned if I can’t imagine Don Draper taking a rip from a bottle of Lansdowne.

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WELCOME TO THE   MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! FUGG YEAH, BOI!

Whoa. Sorry, I just lost my mind for a bit. Can you blame me though, life’s damn wonderful! Worth getting psyched up for! Also, I’ve been pounding caffeine all afternoon, so I scream in the irrational belief that it’ll keep my heart pumping.

Anyways. Posted on Monday evenings by a dude with less than fifteen minutes on his daily commute, this is the weekly show-and-tell at OL. I show you the bits of trivial nonsense I’ll use to numb the sting of indentured servitude. Then, like a good little doobie, you hit up the comments and tell me what you’re up to.

A failure to comply will result in the destruction of your homeworld. The Planet Smasher has been summoned. Don’t test me.

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It’s back, muthafugga, it’s back.

If you followed OL in the formative days, you know all about the glory that is the Friday Brew Review. If you’re new to this scene, let me clue you in: I like the taste of beer. I like the way it makes me feel. I like its ability to make my jokes funnier and women seem more attractive. So for your benefit, I will drink cold ones and describe the experience.

It’s pretty straight-forward.

So after a sabbatical that saw me averting death, deciding on a career, and becoming a more positive member of society, I’ve decided to bring back the Brew Review. Truthfully, I can’t guarantee that I’ll toss one up every week. But what I can promise is that when I do unholster the gun, I’m going to smoke every motherfucker in the saloon.

That’s right, I’m like a retired gunfighter, being called out of retirement for one more fucking showdown.

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